


safehouse #27 in e minor

by greywolfheir



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Set in Episodes 159-160 | Scottish Safehouse Period (The Magnus Archives)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-12 23:09:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28768353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greywolfheir/pseuds/greywolfheir
Summary: You know what this is.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 8
Kudos: 111





	safehouse #27 in e minor

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in a blur at 2am when I couldn't sleep. BUT it's as fluffy as I could make it and I hope someone out there enjoys it.

It was three days before the tension broke. Three days of awkwardly tip-toeing around each other. Three days of sharing a living space—sharing a _bed_ —without acknowledging the elephant in the room.

It didn’t start off well, to put it mildly. Jon had been holding his mug of tea, staring into the middle distance—Knowing or just thinking, Martin wasn’t sure. In an attempt to assuage what looked like some not-very-positive thoughts, Martin reached out to touch the back of Jon’s hand. He should have known it would go badly. It had been Jon’s burned hand, and besides, Martin _knew_ Jon didn’t like to be touched.

Still, Jon flinched.

He flinched so much, in fact, that it sent the mug flying, and the both of them jumped back to avoid the explosion of ceramic and tea. Martin was immediately apologetic—Jon, silent.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Martin said as he ran to get the broom. He shouldn’t take it personally, he knew—he _knew_. Yet the little voice in the back of Martin’s mind wouldn’t shut up about how it was _Martin’s_ touch in particular that Jon had reacted so violently to. Finding the broom but no dustpan, Martin groaned. “Listen, Jon, I love you, but you’ve _got_ to start putting the dustpan _with_ the broom. That’s how the broom _works_.”

Jon, who had been picking his way through the mess, suddenly froze.

Martin thought back to what he’d said and immediately felt mortified. He’d just been reverting basic passive-aggressive language that he’d used all the time with his mum. A coping mechanism, if you will. But in the process, he’d _told Jon he loved him_.

“You love me?” Jon asked in a small voice.

Martin tried to laugh it off. “Always have.”

Jon, however, remained deadly serious. Almost a whisper, he asked, “Still?”

Martin wasn’t sure what to make of that. He wanted to yell, _what the hell do you mean, “still”?_ He wanted to take back the words. But in the end, what came out of his mouth was, “Of course.”

Before Martin could over-think anymore—before he could try to backtrack or change the subject or do _anything_ —Jon had rushed over to Martin, disregarding the dangerous ceramic on the ground to place a hurried kiss to Martin’s mouth.

Which, hold on… _what?_

Jon was kissing Martin. That was an undeniable fact of the universe, that Martin was having a difficult time processing. He was still processing it, when Jon suddenly _wasn’t_ kissing Martin.

“I-I’m sorry,” Jon was saying. “I should have done that, I—well, consent, right? And I don’t even know if—”

During Jon’s short rambling Martin had had the time to process that (1) he’d told Jon he loved him and (2) Jon’s reaction had been to kiss him, therefore (3) Jon maybe ~~loved~~ liked him too? And therefore, Martin had just enough mental capabilities to cup Jon’s cheek with his hand. That succeeded in shutting Jon up, but Martin was now left with the daunting task of having to make the next move.

It was difficult to think more when Jon was looking up at him with wide, earnest eyes. He looked terrified. This hypothesis was enforced by the rabbiting pulse underneath Martin’s hand.

“Do that again, please?” was Martin’s big move.

Jon blinked as the words registered, and then his shoulders slumped in relief. He slowly lifted himself back on his tip-toes, bracing himself on Martin’s chest, before pressing a feather-light kiss to Martin’s lips.

Martin appreciated the delicacy, but he’d also waited a long, long time for this. Therefore—hand still cradling Jon’s cheek—he pressed his lips more firmly to Jon’s. The sound that came out of the other man’s mouth was one that Martin would remember on his worst days to cheer himself up.

Martin almost laughed, then, as everything hit him. He, Martin Blackwood, was kissing Jonathan fucking Sims—and _Jon had kissed him first_. It was absurd—something he hadn’t even dared imagine—yet here he was. He didn’t laugh, but he did smile wide enough that it ended up breaking the kiss.

“Was that, er, good?” Jon asked after a short pause for them to catch their breath.

“Yeah,” Martin said, still smiling. “Very good, I’d say.”

“Good,” Jon said with a relived smile.

“Sorry, but,” Martin said quickly, before the moment ended, “do you mind if we… _keep_ doing that? Just for a bit?”

Jon huffed out a laugh. “I’d like that.”

“Good,” Martin said, and he leaned down to capture Jon’s lips. Then, overcome with a sudden boldness, he lifted the man up and deposited him on the nearby kitchen table. Jon squawked his surprise, but quickly recovered by wrapping his legs around Martin’s middle and digging his fingers into Martin’s hair. The latter had Martin moaning in ways that would, in other circumstances, probably embarrass him. For now, though, he was trying to focus too hard on not blacking out from the overwhelming sensation of it all.

When this kiss ended, Jon pressed his forehead to Martin’s, and Martin closed his eyes, trying to get his breathing back under control. He didn’t mind the respite, taking the time to breathe in Jon’s scent, but he did mind when Jon suddenly gasped and pulled away.

“I just remembered—the mug,” Jon said, suddenly gripping Martin so that the other man couldn’t move. “Make sure you don’t step on the pieces.”

Martin inspected the surrounding area and found no ceramic pieces at his feet. “I think I’m fine, but I _do_ still need to know where the dustpan is.”

“Right,” Jon said, and closed his eyes for a second. When he opened them, they had the green-ish tinge they got when he’d been Knowing something. “It’s under the bathroom sink.”

“Christ, Jon,” Martin said as he stepped away to go get it, “you had to Know where it was? It’s as simple as keeping it _with_ the broom.”

Even as Martin was nagging, he could feel a sudden calmness wash over him. Things hadn’t changed, not really. The tension between them had snapped—in the most delightful way—but besides that, things would continue on as they had. With considerably more kissing involved, sure, but Martin didn’t think he’d mind that.

And when everything had been resolved, Martin hoped that one day, he and Jon would settle down in a little cottage like this one, and live out the rest of their lives just as they did now—with a little more peace.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I stole the title from that tumblr post; I'm tired and can't think of legit titles, fuck off.


End file.
